


Truck-kun Isekai’d Me And Now I Have To Become Robin To Save Batman?! (Working title)

by redboard



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Reader Tim Drake Au, Tim Drake-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28340487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redboard/pseuds/redboard
Summary: Tim was particularly shocked when the Bats had easily accepted the story he made up on the spot about following Batman around the city at age nine after figuring out his secret identity. But that was for the better, sometimes the truth was harder to swallow, even for him.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU I just can’t stop thinking about after reading ORV so I figured I would write a bit about it even if its not nearly as good. I don’t know if it’ll be long or short as I have a few ideas I want to explore and write down. Also the story will be divided in two parts, the past and the present (though we’ll see about a third) and I’ll be flipping between those.  
> This story is compliant with Preboot, N52 and Rebirth. Loosely.

Tim Drake wasn’t the best when it came to remembering dates. History was his worst subject in school and he always got an earful from his parents when he forgot to call his nana on her birthday. He always argued she was so old a day or two wouldn’t make a difference to her but that only managed to make things worse.

However there was one day that was burnt into his memory for days to come, it happened on a Wednesday. He couldn’t recall a lot of things from that day or the days directly after, no matter how much he analyzed the memory for years and years after the fact. But he remembered thinking this: Why would anyone want Robin dead?

* * *

Tim Drake was going to die. This was a thought he had many times in his short lifespan, and quite honestly he was shocked it hadn’t happened any of the other times. 

However this time he was sure of it, as he pulled himself up on wobbly legs, supporting himself with his staff. The room was littered with military grade killer drones that he had just barely managed to defend against. But he was tired and he was hurting and he wouldn’t last much longer.

Knowing this, he gathered his thoughts and caught his breath as much as he could before carefully opening the general Bat channel on his earpiece.

“Well, folks-“ he started, but was immediately interrupted by a handful of noise as everyone began screaming something or other at him. It was painful to his ears but he still had a smile on his face.

Batman managed to break out of the noise to claim his attention and everyone else quieted. “Red Robin, hold out a little longer, I— We will get to you, just…”

He could hear the desperation in Batman’s voice but it was pointless. He didn’t want to waste this opportunity to talk on a promise that couldn’t be fulfilled. Even though he couldn’t be reached, they could talk this time. 

“There is… there is something I want to say…”

“Tell me when I get there, I’m almost there. If you get into the Belfry—!”

There was no time so Tim continued, hoping they would listen.

“I’m glad I was able to be part of this… I… I was always your… biggest fan.”

“I know.”

“To be able to meet you in person and… and be able to fight by your side,” he chuckled and swallowed the blood that filled his mouth. “I didn’t think it was possible.” He looked around the ruined building. Underneath his feet he could almost feel the hum of the Belfry _he_ had _built_. No longer stuck as an idea scribbled in the back of a school notebook. It was real, and somehow for him it felt alive. He had protected his dream and made it reality. 

“Sorry, that wasn't… what I wanted to say,” he laughed, “my head is a bit woozy.”

Neither Batman or the others responded, probably because his voice had dwindled to a small whisper and they didn’t want to miss what he had to say. Maybe Batman and Steph were focusing the hardest to get here and weren’t even listening, but still he had to confess.

“I’m not the person you think I am… I don’t mean it in a… a…” he forgot the word for a moment, “philosophical way. I’m sure you’ve noticed it, there’s no way you wouldn’t have… the things that don’t make…” he had a coughing fit and was unable to continue.

“Stop. Stop it, Tim.” Nightwing said.

Yes, Tim thought, that’s right. Nightwing knew a bit about this. What was it he had said the last time he tried to tell him? ‘I believe that the person you are now is real’... that’s right.

He always woke up every morning with the expectation of the universe correcting itself and and realizing he didn’t fit in. Of people forgetting about him and to be squeezed out of their lives by force. There were a few close calls but he managed to forge forwards and make his own story. He had been accepted and he’d become part of the Bats. The symbol in his chest was a reminder of this.

Tim smiled and looked out to the stars. “You’re right.” He didn’t know what else to say. He knew that someone’s last words were important, if only to become fuel for those left behind. He was trying his best to stay awake and so the best he could manage was, “At least, it’s a beautiful night.”

“Tim,” Stephanie said with a noticeable trembling in her voice. “It’s cloudy tonight.”

And as those stars got closer to him he closed the channel. ‘This would be a nice spread,’ he thought, getting to a stance as best as he could.

He laughed as the stars approached him, their shapes becoming clearer the closer they got. “Maybe even now, people are calling out for someone like me.” He couldnt see the sky anymore through the blinding lights of the drones. “That would be nice.” He managed, before feeling the familiar pain of dying. It was Wednesday.

.

.

.

When Tim opened his eyes he felt disoriented. His body was one big bruise and he could barely open one of his eyes. He felt the ground underneath him, hard and slightly warm like asphalt, and tried to get to his feet.

A loud blaring noise awakened his senses and his body moved on its own, vaulting to one side to avoid the light coming straight towards him. Once it had passed he realized it was a truck, who’s driver was still angrily honking the horn at him to get out of the road.

Tim got up, still looking at the truck until it disappeared around the corner. “I… survived? But,” he felt his abdomen and looked at his hand as his gloves came out covered in blood. “I felt them, the drones definitely…” He had half a mind to turn on his communicator, but no matter what he tried, he was only met with static.

He looked around and wondered if he _had_ died and this was some sort of personal afterlife. If it was, it was kind of a sucky afterlife, as his body was still stinging and bleeding and generally falling apart.

The longer he looked the more the place felt familiar, like a dream he’d had a few times. It was dark, so he couldn’t really tell exactly where he was, so he decided to drag his bloodied body and investigate further.

It was a suburban area, that much he could tell, with the nearly identical houses lining up each side of the street. They weren’t grand but they weren’t modest either. White picket fences, green lawns, organized porches, a nice car in almost every garage. The people who lived here didn’t want for much. It was familiar, yet it was different.

The houses didn’t have the gothic tilt that Gotham houses sported, the lamp posts were standard if not plain looking, the sky was clear and the streets were quiet. 

He wasn’t in Gotham, so then what was this feeling in his chest? The pounding of his heart as his body remembered but his mind struggled to grasp what he was being presented.

He chose a house at random, or more exactly, the house he was closer to, and hobbled over to the door. He knocked and waited, but there was no answer. He tried the bell and hopped it wasn’t too late in the night and was about to inconvenience someone greatly. 

Leaning against a wall, he tried looking through the windows, but the house was dark. Then, his eyes drifted to a small potted plant by the window sill, it was a Narcissus, with tiny budding yellow flowers. With a shaking hand he lifted it and found a key under the pot. He frowned. This was definitely not Gotham.

Carefully he let himself into the house and called out with a weak voice “Hello? I need some help…” but the darkness of the entrance didn’t answer him.

He walked further into the home as his headache bloomed into a migraine. He saw that the kitchen and the dining room were towards the right, while the living room was at the left. He looked at the comfortable couch and longed to crash on top of it, but he didn’t want to frighten whoever lived here if he happened to die in his sleep. 

Instead, his feet took him upstairs. If someone can back and he felt better, he could make a bat exit. It was a good idea, but after five steps he was starting to regret it.

Finally he reached the second floor, where there were three doors. He went to the farthest inside and found the bathroom. There he cleaned his face and looked at his reflection under the white light. “I look like hell threw me up.” He chuckled darkly, “It probably did.” After a quick rifle through the cabinets he put some ointment and bandages on his cuts and bruises. He also bit into a towel as he fixed his dislocated arm. It wasn’t enough, but it’d have to do. 

As he came out of the bathroom and was planning to find any clues of his whereabouts, something at the end of the hall caught his attention. It was a string hanging from the ceiling, a pull down attic ladder. 

His heart was beating fast again and he wondered if it was less the situation and more that his heart was failing. But he still approached the string and pulled.

Up in the attic, the familiar sensation rocketed up. 

There were a lot of boxes and furniture covered in white cloth, but on a corner by a window it was a different story. A dusty bean bag was on the floor in front of an old tv. Magazines and game boxes were piled up in towers, messy but organized by title. The walls were covered in cut out pictures and a busted up bike rested against a wall. On top of a box was a worn notebook and a thin magazine, and he recognized it. 

His hands shook as he picked up the magazine, the notebook falling forgotten on the ground. He flipped the pages without looking and even though he knew what he would find he still couldn’t believe it. The last page was ripped.

There was a noise behind him and Tim woke up from his stupor. A man wielding the leg of a lamp was approaching him warily.

“Get out or I’ll call the police!” the man yelled at the same time Tim blurted out, “Dad…?” 

Belatedly he realized what he’d just said, and the truth of these words shocked him like cold water.

The man wasn’t faring any better, as he looked at him confused and frowned. “Timothy?”

It was unmistakable. Though his features were worn by age and his hair had begun to gray, the fog around his memory started to fade as he looked at this familiar face. 

This was his dad, this was his house, this was his city. He was back.

* * *

Another thing Tim remembered from that day was cycling. His parents wouldn’t have allowed him to use the phone at the house so he planned on using the pay phone at the gas station. 

He ripped the last page of the magazine where the list of phone numbers were and stuffed it in his pocket. He also grabbed his hefty piggy bank and put it on the basket of his bike. He didn’t bother to say goodbye to his mom as he left.

The ride to the gas station was short, but it felt like the longest of his life. He felt pressured by time, somehow he felt that if he didn’t do this he’d lose something very dear to him. 

As soon as the gas station was in sight he rejoiced and his tired legs worked even harder. His mind was occupied with the thought of reaching that place and when the truck hit him it was probably all he was thinking about. He didn’t hear the piggy bank shatter and the coins scatter on the ground, or the sound of the bike getting bent under him, he didn’t feel his body hit the ground. 

When he next woke up, he found himself in a strange, yet familiar place. It was dark, but the city was bathed in lights like the stars had gotten confused and fallen to the ground.

There were blimps floating above and if he squinted, a gargoyle could be seen looking down on him as if he were prey ripe to be hunted by its talons.

And even farther up, above the blimps and the dark buildings and the gargoyles, a light with the emblem of a bat lit up the sky.


	2. Issue #1

Tim didn’t know how long he stared at that light in the sky. He thought maybe he’d mistaken the shape due to the clouds, but the longer he looked at it the more convinced he was. 

It was the Bat Signal.

The signal was the spotlight that Commissioner Gordon used personally to recruit the help of Batman in the comics. It was one of the most recognizable icons in the character’s history… 

Was there some sort of event? He was a big fan of Batman but he hadn’t heard about there being a comic book convention coming to town any time soon.

More importantly, he wondered where he was in the first place. This didn’t look like his city, or any city he’d ever been in before for that matter. Even on trips he’d made to New York the vibe hadn’t been so…Noir.

He wondered what he should do. He didn’t know where he was and he’d never been in an unknown city on his own before.

He could feel people’s gazes on his back as they walked past him and it was starting to make him nervous. He figured walking any direction was better than standing still.

As he walked aimlessly through the city streets trying to find any landmarks, he noticed the strange way people dressed. It was like time had rewinded and it was the mid 1940s again. It reminded him a bit of his mother’s old photo albums. He felt oddly out of place.

He found a news stand and approached it. Looking at the papers on display his eyes widened. The name of the newspaper on sale was “The Gotham Gazette”. Next to it was “The Gotham Times” and “The Gotham Globe”. He couldn’t believe it, was he really in Gotham?

But that was impossible wasn’t it? Gotham City isn’t real, at least not in that sense.

“Hey kid!” The newsstand owner barked at him, chewing on a cigarette. “If you ain’t buying then stop your gawking!”

Tim startled. He thought to move away but he needed more information. If this really was Gotham then being informed would help him greatly. 

He rummaged around his pocket and took out a few dollars. He didn’t have much so he needed to be careful how he spent it. “Can I have a Gazette please?”

The owner looked at him with a crooked eye, accepting the money and motioning to the newspaper. “Careful you don’t get cuts on them fingers.”

Tim frowned, sure he wasn’t an avid newspaper reader but he wasn’t stupid. In any case, he didn’t buy the paper just to read it.

“By the way sir,“ his cheeks warmed a bit in embarrassment, he wasn’t the best liar but he couldn’t exactly ask ‘Hey, is this Gotham City? Y’know, from the comic books?’ Instead he asked, “Can you point me in the direction of the police station? I meant to go there but I got a bit turned around...”

The man looked at him pitifully, “First time in Gotham?” 

Tim’s heart sped up in his chest, but he attempted to school his face to not show his surprise. He didn’t quite manage it, as the man laughed at his foolish expression. Thankfully he merely thought he was embarrassed. 

“Had to be, I mean with a beacon like that it’s pretty hard to miss it.” The man said, pointing in the general direction of the bat signal with his rolled up magazine. 

With his suspicion confirmed Tim thanked the man, but he’d already gone back to reading the magazine, his face half hidden behind the pages.

He was in a bit of a daze as he made his way towards the light in the sky. He wondered if he had died and had gone to heaven. He wasn’t particularly religious, but he’d heard about the concept in passing.

If not heavenly intervention then what could be the logical explanation? How had he even gotten here? One moment he’d been riding his bike to the gas station and the next he was in some historical part of New York which is definitely not Gotham? 

“That doesn’t explain this though…” He looked at the paper he had bought. The date was surprising. It wasn’t August anymore, it was already well into November. He’d lost 3 whole months of time? That was a bit concerning.

After crossing the street he approached the window of a store and looked at his reflection. Nothing seemed to be wrong about him, his body didn’t hurt and his clothes were the same ones he had worn after leaving his house.

Maybe traveling across dimensions took a lot of time? He couldn’t recall if that was an established rule in any of the comics he’d read.

Behind him there was the loud wail of sirens and he watched a patrol car speed by in the reflection of the glass.

He turned and noticed the batsignal was off now and wondered then, if this really was Gotham, if Batman had just left the rooftop. He was sad to have missed it if that was the case… 

After walking a few more blocks he found the police department, and sure enough, the building as well as the patrol cars parked outside were labeled for the “Gotham City Police Department”.

“At this point I’d be a fool if I didn’t just accept it...” He mumbled to himself. 

He wondered what he should do now. This was one of the most dangerous cities in the world after all. Should he try to call his parents? Would they even answer? Somehow he doubted it.

He was in a tight bind. He didn’t know how he got here or how to go back home, and even more urgently, how to survive until he figured it out.

He rummaged through his shorts’ pocket and found the few dollar bills he had on him. This wouldn’t even last him a few days, he doubted he could pay for a hotel room with this much. 

Looking through his other pockets he found a crumpled piece of paper. He unfolded it and suddenly he recalled what he’d been doing just before this happened.

On the paper, a black and white drawing of Batman cradling Robin in his arms was printed. On top of it the inscription read:

“ROBIN WILL DIE BECAUSE THE JOKER WANTS REVENGE. BUT YOU CAN PREVENT IT WITH A TELEPHONE CALL.”

Then, a couple of phone numbers were listed, one calling for Robin’s death and the other for his salvation…

He’d been on his way to borrow the gas station’s pay phone to call before he ended up here. His hands shook as he clutched the paper tightly. He couldn’t imagine people actually voting to have Robin killed—It’s Robin! Who other than the Joker actually wants him dead?—but he’d been filled with apprehension ever since he finished reading the issue. 

Why else would they make a story like that if they hadn’t had a reason. Maybe the DC editorial got a lot of letters of complaints, or maybe the editors had gotten sick of the character and decided to kill him off, placing all the blame on the readers.

That’s why he decided to spend all of his savings to call and prove there was someone out there who wanted him to live. At least him…

He wondered if he had survived.

Tim felt cold, completely unrelated to the wind chill. It’d already been months, the voting would be well over by now. He couldn't find out, since he doubted the stores here sold Batman comic books.

Then he thought about the batsignal and remembered where he was. He could find out from the source.

“Of course! How did I not think of this?” He exclaimed. Not only could he find out what happened to Robin, but he could also ask Batman for help with his problem. Batman was the world’s best detective, if someone could figure out trans-dimensional travel, he couldn’t think of a better person to start with. Maybe he would ask for help from the League or Superman!

All set on this plan, he looked for the closest bus stop, and after checking with the driver, got on one that would take him the closest to the outskirts of the city. He asked an old lady who sat next to him if she knew where Bruce Wayne’s Manor was.

“Course I do, dear. I may not look it now, but I was a close friend of the family once…” she said, before weaving a long, complicated story he couldn’t tell if it was fabricated or not. It was interesting to hear, though it took the entirety of the ride to get her to point where to look. “Just keep going up the hill in Mountain Drive and before you reach the top you’ll spot it. Awfully reclusive though, those Waynes, you can hardly see the house from the gate.”

After accepting a bag of sunflower seeds from the old lady and getting off the bus, Tim set out to climb the hill. It wasn’t too steep, but it had an uncomfortable degree of inclination that easily wore him out. He had also made the mistake of eating some of the seeds and had made himself incredibly thirsty.

Tim wished Batman still lived at his penthouse, that would have been much more accessible. He slowed his pace and looked around, hoping to see a sign that said ‘Wayne Manor and also water, in here!’ Instead he found a number of mansions lining up the road, each farther apart from the other.

He’d never seen these houses before. He figured they were always the blur of color that could be seen as the batmobile sped by. He wondered what kind of person would be Bruce Wayne’s neighbor. Tim thought if someone lived near the manor it’d be pretty hard to miss the fact that Batman lived just next door, even if the houses are plenty far apart.

“Maybe he bought all of the houses surrounding it,” Tim mused, “that way no one can ever move in and find out his secret.” It seemed pretty sensible to him, though it was also a huge waste of money. Not that something like that ever stopped Batman.

Finally he reached a large black gate with the words ‘Wayne Manor’ emblazoned grandly on top.

The old lady had been right, he couldn’t even see the actual manor through the foliage of the front garden, where the road for the cars weaved into and disappeared out of sight. There was also still somewhat of an incline, so the Manor was probably up on top of a hill.

Depictions of the Manor always varied depending on the penciler, as far as he knew there was never just one design. People kept adding or removing things out of convenience or artistic freedom, so it was interesting to see an amalgamation of these ideas in front of him; even if it was a bit messier than what one would expect from the lavish mansion of the richest man in town.

Tim noticed the intercom just to the left side of the gate. Now all he had to do was call up and ask to be let inside. Then he could ask his questions and ask for some water.

Just before he pressed the button he hesitated. What should he say? That he was awfully curious about the state of his son and so he came to ask? That seemed too morbid, given the situation. As far as Tim knew Jason could be in a very precarious state, if he’d survived. Tim had a chill go through his spine. He didn’t have a right to ask that sort of thing, that could wait.

Then, he’d simply ask for help. He didn’t even have to reveal he knew about Batman, for the man’s peace of mind. Bruce Wayne would surely agree to help him.

He couldn’t believe it, he was going to meet the real Batman. 

As he strengthened his resolve to get it over with, a voice called out to him from the other side of the gate.

“I'm afraid it does not work with the will of the mind, young sir, you have to push the button to make it work.”

Tim turned and saw a familiar person, dressed in gardening clothes and holding a large and scary looking scissor in his hands.

“You’re Alfred Pennyworth…” Tim said in awe, as the man approached the gate. He looked exactly how he’d been drawn for years. His hair was slightly greying and combed neatly to one side. His eyelids were drooping, yet his gaze was noticeably alert. Even without his signature suit, this was unmistakably Alfred Pennyworth. 

“That is correct, though I’m sorry to say I don’t remember making the young sir’s acquaintance, if you’ll excuse...” Alfred stopped in his tracks.

[Alfred was momentarily shocked by the child’s appearance, who closely resembled his master when he’d been younger.]

“Huh?” Tim blinked.

“I apologize,” Alfred rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “did you say you needed something?”

“Did you see that?” He said, pointing behind Alfred, but whatever he’d seen was already long gone before the man turned to see. 

“I’m in no mood for pranks, child.” Alfred sighed, sounding like he was quickly losing his patience. 

Tim couldn’t understand. He swore something yellow appeared just above Alfred’s head. 

“No! No, I was looking for Bruce Wayne…” Tim said carefully, still doubting his eyes. “I have something I have to ask him.”

[As he looked closer he realized it was merely a trick of the mind. The manor had been plagued with too many ghosts these days.] 

This time, Tim caught the box appearing, smaller this time, and the writing upon it with a familiar font.

“I’m afraid Master Bruce isn’t accepting any visitors at this date.”

[Not the least of which,] said a smaller box on the side, continuing where the last left off, [was the master himself.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an Isekai after all. The narration boxes... they are not like Deadpool’s, if you’re familiar with those. Full disclosure I’m just being incredibly self indulgent with this fic tbh.
> 
> Also updates will be irregular... that said thanks for the interest on this weird concept !


End file.
